


Righting the wrongs

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Series: Sterek Bingo 2017 [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - High School, Attempt at fix-it, Derek Hale is suddenly the same age as Stiles Stilinski, Implied canon happened, M/M, alternate universes/timelines, and was then reset, temporary major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: Derek died on a Thursday.It doesn't take.For the theme: Derek returns





	Righting the wrongs

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for [Sterek Bingo](https://sterek-bingo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> For the theme: Derek returns
> 
> Comments, kudos and constructive critism are welcome

  


* * *

  


Derek Hale died on a Thursday.

There was nothing glorious about it. Blinking neon light reflecting off the rain wet asphalt, strangers hurrying to get to their destinations, huddled under dark umbrellas or with jacket collars up to shield their faces.

And in a filthy, dark alley, stinking of urine and garbage he met a woman with a sword coated in wolfsbane, the blade sharp enough that he didn’t feel any pain until blood and intestines were pouring from the gaping wound, life leaving him as fast as his heart was pumping the blood from his body.

His thoughts going lightning fast as everything flashed before his eyes; from arguing with Laura, over killing Paige, meeting Kate and have his world burned to the ground to that faithful day he berated two teenagers of trespassing on private property.

Heart rate slowing and every thought fading at the edges like old photographs until light burst through them and he’d heaved his final breath.

Derek Hale died alone, not even the huntress staying to witness his final breath.

[~]

His body was found by garbage men three days later, the coroner ruled homicide but without leads or witnesses the case was closed almost faster than it opened.  
They couldn’t identify him to notify his next of kin or determine if he’d had any money, and in the end he was buried in an unmarked grave on the country’s expense.

John Doe 45983/4 was buried on a Friday, with only the priest as witness.

* * *

**Freshman and Sophomore year**

* * *

Derek Hale came back on a Monday.

Confused – he’d been dead, hadn’t he? - and surrounded by teenagers; the noise overwhelming yet familiar; a memory just out of reach waiting for the right spark to let him remember where he is. And then he saw him, as beautifully awkward as he’d been the first time Derek had laid eyes on him a lifetime ago and yet there was something different about him than there had been back then.  
He watched as the boy grabbed his friend’s arm to turn him around and walk towards Derek, then a flash of fear in eyes that had haunted him all the way to New York before being hidden behind a carefully blank mask. Derek was just about to say something – anything – when he noticed how they’d edged closer to the wall while moving as fast as possible without making it seem like they were running from him.

He didn’t have time to wonder at their weird behavior before somebody slammed a hand against his back, a chorus of voices lifted in greeting – Derek wasn’t sure what his face looked like, but judged on the fact that Jackson (who’d refused him at every turn of their limited previous interactions) was apparently a friend of his, it was most likely something unflattering. It didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary though, as the boys around him just laughed and herded him in the direction of what he assumed was the class room he’d had to be in right now.

Derek doesn’t have particularly fond memories of Beacon Hills High School (tainted as they are by fire and death) and he finds it even less appealing now. Apparently he’s on the lacrosse team, which – in Derek’s opinion at least – is the most pointless sport since figure skating, and together with the rest of first line he rules the school; or rather, they pretend to rule the school while doing Lydia Martin’s bidding. 

The day passes in a blur with Derek trying to keep up without letting anybody find out how lost he actually is following Jackson (because they apparently have the same schedule) and itching to get out and away, searching for answers as to why he’s alive and fifteen when he has very clear memories telling him he should be twenty six and dead. Sadly he’s dragged to the locker rooms to get ready for tryouts.

It’s brutal, or so Derek assumes but he’s busy not being too obviously distracted by Stiles on the bench cheering his friend on. At first Scott _does_ manage to keep up with the team and Derek can see why he’d been made co-captain; Scott _knows_ where the ball and any given player is all the time, without his asthma Scott would be a force on the field – now, though, he collapses to the side ten minutes in, Stiles instantly at his side with an inhaler to the mocking yells of half the first line. Derek expects him to flip them off or make some scathing remark, but the boy opts to ignore them instead getting Scott to his feet and off the field.

[~]

Derek lingers in the shower, doesn’t want to be forced into socializing with anybody because he needs to see what other changes him being here has brought. He turns off the water when the door closes after the last of his team mates, dries off and redresses as fast as possible before shoving his gear into the locker he’d taken them from and then he runs, out the building, across the field and past the trees as he lets the shift ripple through him and then he’s almost _home_.

The house is there, looking just the way he remembers it. White among the green of the trees surrounding it, voices and scents he hasn’t experienced in ten years drifting from the back of the house, paralyzing him with fear that this, too, is a dream, that he’s still lying in that alley trying to keep his insides in place where they’re trying to escape through his abdomen.  
There’s no mistaking the feeling in his chest though, the way the pack bond pulses with the closeness of his family. He takes a step towards the house when the door slams open and a small child – she can’t be more than seven, with her ripped tee and jeans stained by grass and dirt, leaves stuck in her black hair and two missing front teeth – stands there, screaming “Derek’s hoooooooome” at the top of her lungs before she lunges, wrapping herself around him and Derek’s helpless as he tightens his arms around her, buries her face against her hair and bursts into tears.

To her credit Cora lets him get it all out, awkwardly patting his back without any kind of complaint, even if he’d probably crush her if she wasn’t a werewolf. He feels lighter than he has for years when his tears finally dry up letting his baby sister back down and allowing her to drag him along, up the stairs through the hallway and kitchen out into the back yard. The sight greeting him almost makes him cry again: His dad and uncle Peter grilling, his mother and aunt Sophia sitting at the table with glasses of wine within reach talking, while Laura’s chasing after their cousins in her beta shift.

[~]

It takes a month before Derek dares believe that this, somehow, is real. A month basking in his pack being here, being alive. A month where he can almost forget about fire and ashes, forget his family’s blood on his hands and lost teenagers who’d deserved better than him. A month where he’s safe and happy even if he has to be friends with Jackson and Stiles seems scared of him.  
And then a new girl makes her entrance at school, Derek getting front row seats to the epic romance unfurling only to realize what he should’ve probably thought of sooner: He needs to talk to Deaton.

The vet’s look just like it did the last time Derek was here – however long ago that might be – right down to the woman with her cat sitting in one of the plastic chairs. As it’s not an emergency per say Derek sits on one of the other chairs, grabs one of his books to get some of his home work out of the way while awaiting his turn.

His calm’s shattered by the all too familiar sound of a certain jeep, quickly followed by equally familiar voices

 _”Can’t you just,”_ a pause, _“just this once?”_  
_”It doesn’t work that way, Scotty.”_ A deep breath. _“I’ll ask, okay, but don’t count on it.”_  
_”Thanks man. It’s just, you know, and stuff.”_  
A small laugh like that made any kind of sense. _“Yeah, I get it Scott. And I’ll ask once I get home, deal?”_ followed by rustling of clothes as if the owners of the voices were huggin.

and Derek can feel his palms starting to sweat. He’d tried to stay clear of both Stiles and Scott, tried to keep Jackson and the rest of the team to leave them alone (he hadn’t really succeeded, but he kept trying), mostly because he was trying to avoid some of his past mistakes – at least, that’s what he told himself.  
He should’ve known that being here came with the risk of at least running into Scott; he’d been working for the vet back when Peter bit him and there was no reason to think he didn’t in this timeline (Derek had loved _”Back to the Future”_ , and figured this was a little like when Biff had given himself the sports almanac, even if all the changes here seemed to be positive) either, so really, Derek should’ve prepared for what would most like be a _very_ awkward encounter if they saw him.  
It did look as if Scott was every bit as unobservant as Derek was used to, and the boy simply made his way through the counter and with a quick greeting at Stiles he was out of sight. Derek, who was very carefully watching Stiles over the top of his book, saw how his back was stiff and his shoulders drawn upward as if he anticipated some kind of attack.

Derek wondered if maybe Stiles was gearing up for some sort of confrontation (he still had no idea why there’s such animosity between them) and what it would entail. He was _not_ expecting Stiles to turn around with the same look on his face as when he’d threatened to throw Derek out of his car, nor did he expect the sarcastic salute before Stiles stomped out the door and the roar from the jeep accompanying his departure; Derek wasn’t quite sure if he was relieved or annoyed by the dismissal, but he didn’t get long to ponder it as Deaton came into the waiting room nodding as he saw Derek before letting the woman through to one of the exam rooms.

[~]

Not having gotten any useful answers ( _”it appears you’ve simply gotten a second chance, Derek”_ ) he focused his attention on the larger problem: the presence of Argents in Beacon Hills once again.

Stiles never did care much for lacrosse, but when your best friend thinks nothing would be better than playing the game you show up for tryouts.  
So they’d gone, the severe asthmatic and the klutz, and it had been exactly as horrible as Stiles had thought it would be. But Scott insisted and so they joined the team as nothing more than the guys who sat on the bench and had even less playtime than Greenberg; but Scott was happy and that’s what mattered.

It could have all ended there but then it turned out Scott actually could play, was rather good at it too and the only thing keeping him off the field was his stupid lungs, and so Jackson began with the jibes and soon the rest of first line followed. Scott, being the ray of sunshine that he was, took it all in stride, claiming it was simply a way of bonding and that they were happy to have him and Stiles on the team. Stiles didn’t waste his time disagreeing, simply made a plan to ensure their attention would shift to him instead.

It had been _perfection_ , just as good as Hermione’s boils causing jinx but then his mother caught wind of it and gave him a long lecture of what you can and can’t do to other people no matter how justified it feels to you. Luckily the two weeks grounding that followed gave him plenty of time to think of something else; perhaps not as painful to Jackson and his goons but if it worked it would ensure they laid off of Scott.

[~]

Freshman year was the first time Stiles began to question his plan (if you can call telling everybody that you intend to marry Lydia Martin a “plan”; but so far it had worked so Stiles wasn’t going to throw it under the bus by questioning it’s plan-ness) when a new student was introduced.  
Derek Hale - with eyebrows of doom, a scowl that could make you want to hide and piss your pants and a smile to rival the sun if he deigned to unleash it in your vicinity – who’d been home schooled up until that point was on everybody’s lips within five seconds of walking through the school doors.  
Stiles couldn’t really blame them; even if the guy wasn’t done growing up he’d certainly begun filling out in all the right places (a thought he would later examine in the privacy of his own bedroom, not a crowded school hall), and that was before Stiles got close enough to smell the guy. Even with a gun to his head Stiles doubted he could ever describe it, but it seemed almost _familiar_ in a way that made his heart clench and tears well in his eyes – luckily he had his back to the rest of the students flooding the hall and nobody cared to notice the way the white of his eyes was turning bloodshot.

Being near Derek was awful (he was always overwhelmed by inexplicable joy muted by sadness) and thankfully didn’t happen that often. They shared a few classes but Stiles was firmly placed in the back (sometimes next to Scott, though sadly often times not) and Derek, being the new kid and all, got assigned a desk at the front of class.  
Days became weeks became months with Derek being absorbed by the popular kids and their interactions became even more limited, even if Stiles could sometimes swear he could feel eyes following him everywhere he went, and when he looked up it seemed that Derek was the source of it.

* * *

**Junior year**

* * *

A year in and Derek had almost stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop and instead embracing this second chance he’d been given. It had been a relief when he found out that Paige was currently a few years older than him, long gone for college and her parents moved out of Beacon Hills.  
He’d tried to ask his mom about Deucalion and Ennis but she’d refused to talk about them, simply saying they wouldn’t dare show their faces in Beacon county if they knew what was good for them. Derek had then proceeded to beg Deaton to let him know if he heard anything; the vet had been vague and mysterious as always but Derek had decided that it was his best chance of getting an early warning if they crossed the city line.

He was, however, anxiously awaiting the point where Kate would turn up. And when she did it wasn’t at all how he remembered it. 

[~]

Objectively speaking Derek could admit that Kate was beautiful. Having her right in his face, being enveloped in that sickly sweet perfume he’d still had nightmares about before he died (or had never had; time travel or second chances or whatever this was was making it difficult to know what had and hadn’t really happened. Most of the time Derek tried not to think about it, as it gave him terrible headaches), didn’t really give him opportunity to be objective.  
She was exactly like he remembered, so infinitely sure of herself as she took up residence in Derek’s space, sultry voice whispering pleasantries in his ears and maybe it wasn’t so surprising how his sixteen-year old grief stricken self had fallen so hard for her, had wanted to believe everything she said so badly. 

Still not closer to a solution Derek soon found that history is often times doomed to repeat itself. Of course this time he knew what lay behind every touch of a hand, every sugary sweet word falling from lips eagerly trying to map out his skin and he was far too busy battling the nausea to actually push her off when her hands started wandering.  
Turns out he didn’t have to come up with any plan as the door suddenly slams open and three men in uniforms have Kate against a wall, reading her her rights, one of them silently handing Derek his shirt.  
He notices Stiles when he’s lead from the house and he has to actively suppress the urge to facepalm, because of course that nosy little shit would’ve noticed what was happening and would come up with an idea that Derek honestly should have thought about from the get go.

* * *

**Senior year**

* * *

Having Kate’s trial over and done with, telling his mom about the fact that she was a hunter who wanted to kill them (Derek assumes that Kate’s motives haven’t changed, even if the timeline has) makes it feel like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders and he finally resettles in his own skin, relaxes amidst pack and home.

He can hear the whispers as he enters the school after the summer break, the air heavy with curiosity even if none of the other students dare approach him. Even Jackson and the rest of the lacrosse team seem to shy away from him as he purposely strides down the hall, eyes narrowed to make sure he doesn’t lose sight of his target.  
As Stiles slams his locker shut Derek stops and leans against the locker next to the other boy’s, arms crossed over his chest waiting for him to notice. When he does Stiles takes a small step back, flails a little as a quiet shriek is pushed from his lips in surprise. It’s so reminiscent of the boy he used to know he can’t help the smile stretching his lips.

”Thank you, Stiles,” he says before making his way to his first class, leaving silence in his wake.

[~]

It’s as if it’s the signal Stiles has been waiting for. Suddenly he’s everywhere, sitting next to Derek in the classes they share, next to him during lunch (Lydia had insisted Allison joined them for lunch, Allison brought Scott and where Scott went Stiles was, too, though before he’d been sitting as far from them while staying at the same table and now he’d moved up next to Derek), talking to him when they left class rooms going to the next, talking to him when they were changing into their lacrosse gear, when they were showering, when they were redressing.  
Derek hadn’t realized how much he’d actually missed Stiles’ constant talking until he finally had it back, and he kept having to stop himself smiling like an idiot.

At some point other things happened and the rest of the school stopped walking on eggshells around Derek, most of them apparently forgetting the whole Kate thing as time went by, even the team resuming their old attitudes towards him. Derek didn’t really pay attention, caught up in getting to know Stiles in a way he’d never bothered before.  
The only one who was surprised that Derek asked Stiles to be his prom date was Stiles himself, who elegantly fell down his chair before proceeding to yell an affirmation. Derek just shook his head fondly before reaching out his hand to help the boy up.

* * *

**Ten years later**

* * *

Derek entered the bedroom, drying off his hair while listening to the voices drifting up from the living room. Stiles telling their youngest the story of how he’d found out Derek was a werewolf

 _”Like me, daddy?”_  
_”Exactly like you,” was the answer._  
A chorus of other voices mixing with the first two, Derek smiling as he recalled the incident.

It wasn’t until he was buttoning the white shirt he realized the smell in their bedroom was _off_. After living together for years every inch of their house smells like them combined, layered with the scents of their family - pack - and lately with the addition of their children’s scents. But the thing is, it has always been an equal amount of ‘Stiles’ and ‘Derek’ and right now the smell of Stiles is far more prominent than anything else.

Weary he turns from the dresser and there, sitting on the bed is an eighteen year old boy Derek hasn’t thought about for almost a decade. His hair is still in that ridiculous buzz cut, the clothes baggy enough to hide the muscles Derek knows he had back then, there are dark bruises under his eyes and his cheeks are hollow as if he doesn’t eat enough as well as the obvious lack of sleep.  
He’s painfully familiar even if he’s a complete stranger, and Derek can’t help the way he drinks in the scent, so alike the one he wakes up surrounded by, but now he can tell why Stiles had seemed so different the first time he’d seen him after coming back from the dead: This Stiles, too young and far too old, smells strongly of electricity, vibrates with it like high-voltage lines; _his_ Stiles - the one he’s been with since he asked him to prom, through being in colleges thousand miles apart - has never smelled like anything but lemon and cinnamon, like home.

The boy holds up his hands and Derek can see the wall through them, his voice sounds far away as he speaks.  
”I’m glad it worked out,” there’s a sad edge to his smile. “Glad that you’re alive, that your _pack_ is alive.”  
And how do you thank someone for that, for essentially giving their life for your happiness. Derek finds that he can’t; words have never been his strong suit and he never thought he’d ever find out how he’d ended up here rather than six feet in the ground. So he takes Stiles’ hands, hands he’s spent years familiarizing himself with, letting his thumb stroke across the knuckles in a way he knows calms (his) Stiles and which seems to have an effect on this one too.  
They don’t move, Derek simply holding his hands as he slowly fades away, the last thing to disappear his big, bright smile telling him it was all worth it.

It’s not until the bedroom door opens and Stiles rushes over to him, frantically asking what’s wrong that Derek realizes he’s crying; for two boys who lost so much, for all those who died, all the pain that followed.  
But here, now, with the solid weight of Stiles in his arms, the reassuring noise of their kids coming from down stairs, he’s also crying because he’s happy, because somehow he wasn’t just given a second chance, he _took_ it.

end


End file.
